Between Love and Duty. Janice Johnson Kay

who Lupe said had already come by the apartment to talk to her. Tito burned with resentment because Miss Brooks didn’t know anything but would be able to decide things about his life. It made him mad that she’d talked to his sister at least a week ago but not to him until now.

       “Tito,” she said, when they went straight to the table in a quiet corner of the library where she had already been sitting. She gave him a big smile. He’d seen smiles like that before. He didn’t return it.

       “Lupe, thank you,” she said. “Do you mind if I talk to Tito alone?”

       This woman did speak Spanish, at least, he thought grudgingly. Lupe seemed to like her, but then she liked everyone except for that idioto, Raul, who lied every month and said he couldn’t find a job only so he didn’t have to pay child support. What kind of man did that make him? Not much of one. Tito worried that Lupe needed the money the state paid her to take care of him.

       He sat down unhappily, across the table from the social worker woman, and his sister left them.

       Miss Brooks said, “Tito, you can call me Jane. Would you rather speak in Spanish, or English?”

       He shrugged and focused on the tabletop. Someone had written some bad words in ink. He rubbed a finger over them, and they smeared.

       “Then let’s make it English,” she said, switching. “Since that’s what you have to speak at school.”

       He shrugged again.

       “You know your father will be released in two weeks.”

       She waited and waited, until he finally mumbled, “Yes.”

       She explained that the judge had asked her to talk to him and his family members and any adult friends—even his teachers—and recommend where she thought he should live.

       “I know you’re used to living with your sister now,” she said, in a nice voice. “But she doesn’t have much room, and she works evenings. It would be better if you had someone who could spend more time with you.”

       He did wish Lupe worked days instead. Tito didn’t like Señora Ruiz, the neighbor who came over evenings. She ignored him and mostly paid attention to the little kids.

       “How do you feel about it?”

       Tito looked up at last. “What do you care?”

       Her eyes were soft. Kind. They were pretty, too, blue but not cold. More like a flower.

       “I do care. I want what’s best for you, Tito. You don’t know me, and you have no reason to trust me, but you can. I promise. Te prometo.”

       There was a lump in his throat. He struggled against it and finally nodded.

       He still didn’t answer very many of her questions. He didn’t know if he wanted to live with his father! How could he know? And who else was there? Yes, he had a brother, Diego, but he was only twenty and worked the fields. He had dropped out of school early—not that much older than Tito was now. He never stayed in one place, and he didn’t have a wife. Tito saw him only every few months.

       When Miss Brooks said, “I spoke to Duncan Mac-Lachlan,” Tito looked at her in alarm.

       “He didn’t tell me.”

       “I asked him not to.”

       That tasted bad, like broccoli. He had trusted Duncan, who had caught him, el stupido, breaking into his house. What had Duncan said to her?

       “He told me he wouldn’t betray any confidences.” She fumbled for another way to say that, but Tito understood and relaxed. He wished secretly that he could live with Duncan, but, of course, he wouldn’t want a boy like Tito. Why would he? Tito wondered all the time why he was being so nice.

       “Do you like spending time with Duncan?”

       Tito smeared the words on the table some more, but he also nodded.

       “He did tell me how you met.”

       Tito’s head shot up, but she was smiling.

       “Don’t worry. It has nothing to do with where you live. I won’t tell anyone else.”

       That lump was again in his throat. “Gracias. Thank you.”

       Still smiling, she said, “Here’s my phone number, Tito. It’s a cell phone, so you can reach me day or evening. If there’s anything you want to say.”

       “Okay.”

       “I’ll be speaking to your father next.” She asked him if there were other adults she should talk to, but he shrugged. He had friends, sí, but he didn’t even know their parents. Truthfully, he didn’t have many friends, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

       She signaled and Lupe came over to them. Tito hadn’t known that his sister had stayed. She looked so tired. He wondered if Papa could help her, once he got out. Would he be able to find work? If he couldn’t, how would he be able to take Tito?

       What would Papa think of Duncan? Tito felt a heavy sensation in his chest at the idea of not being able to play basketball and soccer with Duncan anymore, but if he had to live with Papa and Papa said no…

       “Was it all right?” Lupe asked him on the way home, and Tito only hunched down in the car seat and shrugged.

       He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember what “all right” was.

      TELEPHONE TO HIS EAR, Duncan rotated his big leather office chair so that he was gazing out the window at the sky. His office was on the second floor of the new redbrick jail and police station. Right next door, attached by a glassed-in walkway, was the matching courthouse.

       On the fourth ring, a woman said, “Dance Dreams.”

       Jane Brooks, of course. She had an intriguing voice. A little husky. Smoky. Sexy, damn it.

       “Ms. Brooks. You’ve been dodging my calls.”

       A couple of weeks had passed since she’d come to his house, and never another word from her. He’d left her four messages on her cell phone. They had been increasingly testy, he knew.

       “Yes, I have, Captain MacLachlan. As I thought I’d made clear to you, I’m unable to discuss my recommendations until I make them to the court. I’d welcome new information. However, you didn’t sound as if you had any to offer.”

       He restrained a growl. “Have you talked to the father?”

       “Yes, I have.”

       “And?”

       “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss…”

       He didn’t even try to restrain this growl. “Ms. Brooks, do you or do you not want what’s best for Tito?”

       “That,” she retorted with a snap in her voice, “depends on whether we’re talking about what’s best for Tito as pronounced by you, Captain.”

       “I’ve read the original police report on Hector Ortez’s crime.”

       “As have I.”

       That surprised him.

       She continued, “The trial transcript, too. Have you read that, Captain MacLachlan?”

       He hadn’t.

       She waited politely. “No?” she said after a moment. “Since you’re so interested, you might want to do so.”

       “I intend to.”

       “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have customers.”

       He didn’t know whether it was more insulting to think that she was lying about the existence of those customers, or that she wasn’t.

       Either way—she was gone. “Bullheaded woman,” he muttered, hanging up the phone.

       Duncan